Story about a boy who is friends with the owner of a run down house and an immaculate garden. The boy doesn't know much about the owner, but why does his garden grow so well? And why does he always have to leave before sunset?

Submitted: April 26, 2017

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Submitted: April 26, 2017

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Prologue

I lifted the heavy shovel up in the air, my hands above my head, and the end of the metal facing the ground. With power and speed I brought it down, the head of the shovel stabbing into the ground.
I repeated this over and over, making holes in different places, lining them up with each other, different sections with different holes. Perfect. I let the shovel fall from my hand and watched as
it hit the earth with a thump. I turned around and faced the caged prisoner of humanity, bound in rope and gagged, flailing helplessly on the ground. I watched them struggle like a beast watches
his prey. I walked towards them slowly, menacingly, letting them see what I was, what I was becoming. I stood next to my prisoner and stared into their trembling eyes, watching as their tears shone
in the moonlight, seeing my reflection in their dilated pupils.

I smiled a sick smile, a smile filled with sadism and desire. I stood back up and walked over to a post which upheld a fruit tree. I reached down, feeling the wooden handle of the axe in my hand.
Grasping it tightly, I walked back to my prisoner, watching them like a hawk, taking in their every movement. I planted my foot harshly on their head, shoving it into the dirt. I raised the axe
above my head and brought it down, cutting into the back of my victim, spraying blood all over me. I listened to them scream as I repeated the action. I laughed in unison with their agony, first
hacking into the feet and legs, then the hands and arms. I lifted the axe one final time and as my eyes rolled into the back of my head in euphoria as I brought it down, slicing through the neck of
my prisoner. I breathed slowly, my body trembling with ecstasy as I brought myself back to reality.

I separated the pieces of the body, burying them in the different holes that I had made. Making sure that each piece was treated as delicately and with as much respect as the last. I filled the
holes and stood back to admire my work. At last, I had set another victim of humanity free. Now their soul could rest with the hundreds of others that I had released. As I walked back to the house
the ghosts of the damned screamed welcome. A smug smile set itself on my lips. This was my duty, my purpose, my legacy. This was my design.

Story

The gentle summer wind blew through the trees, the sun casted a silver lining over the shadows of the forest. My feet crunched on the dry leaves, leaving behind a trail to never be found. I hummed
a slight tune as I walked, not caring about what was going to happen to me, never thinking of what my last moments would be like. I headed down the little path towards the broken down house which
was deemed abandoned, though I knew it wasn’t. The house looked a mess with overgrown vines clinging to the roof and walls. There were broken windows, missing tiles and cracked bricks. This house
was rumoured to be haunted as at night a demon would rise and devour anything in its path. I never paid any attention to these old rumours, but I never went to the house at night. Although the
house was in a bad shape, at the side of it there was a huge, lush garden which was divided into sections. One of those sections was filled with a variety of vegetables and fruits while the other
was filled with beautiful, exotic flowers with colours of darkness which shined beautifully in the moonlight. The garden was kept immaculate, tended to everyday or as I would put it, every night. I
often visited the house, finding comfort and solidity in the owner of it. Though I knew hardly anything about the owner of the house I was willing to call them my friend. The owner of the house was
tall with black hair and dull, cold eyes. His name was Peter and he was an ex specialised detective. Not once in his career life had this man failed to solve a case, though I never questioned why
and perhaps I should have. Peter’s skills were profound. He was a master in three martial arts, he could throw a knife in a devastatingly beautiful fashion and he never missed a target while
shooting. He was quite muscular, as you’d expect but he also had an air of mystery surrounding him. He hardly spoke and never left his house during the day except for when I visited him. He never
told me anything about himself so I had to find out the hard way, which was asking around the town.

I turned around the corner that lead to the house, almost bumping into two middle aged women wearing brightly coloured dresses and straw sun hats. I would have apologised to them if they didn’t
scoff and turn up their noses at me. I pouted but continued my walk, soon coming to the end of the forest. I walked along the dirt road which lead to the house, though I didn’t have to knock on the
door as Peter was tending to the garden. I went up to the rusty, black gate and called out to him, waving my arm in greeting. He turned around, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He nodded
back at me and motioned at me to join him. Without an ounce of hesitation I trotted up to him and smiled, picking up a stray hoe which I happened to stumble upon. Peter pointed to a spot a few
metres away and I began to work. Little did I know that his eyes were studying me, analysing my every movement, watching me work in the field that would become my grave. As we worked we made small
conversations, mostly about how hot it was and how lovely the vegetation was looking. I enjoyed the company of my friend, despite the way he acted.

After what seemed like hours of work we stopped to take a break. Peter leaned on his shovel while I sat down on the dirt beside him, the shade of the trees protecting us from the sun. I was about
to say something but I stopped as I heard laughter. I looked at Peter and saw him staring at the two people walking along the road. They talked in loud voices, ruining the pleasant silence. I
looked up at Peter, noticing the deep scowl on his face and an angry look in his eyes. One of the women pointed at us and laughed and the other soon joined in. They both lifted their heads up high
and smirked as they strolled along. Peter followed them with his ugly stare, his eyes flashing with malice. “I don’t like them either.” I stated in a matter of fact tone while continuing to
watch the two women fade into the distance. Peter just glanced at me for a second before turning his head away. We soon continued with our task, though we didn’t work as hard as before. Soon the
sun was about to set so I bid my farewells before heading off home. Peter never let me stay longer than sunset, I was curious to know why but I never brought it up with him. I’ve made him mad once
and I swore I would never do it again.

Chapter 1.5

The ghosts of lost souls cried and wailed as I brought the axe down, waiting for the next soul to join them in company. Blow after blow, rupturing organs, smashing bones and hacking into flesh
as I made my mark. I listened to the shrieks of horror and prolonged death surrounding me, my eyes burning red with hunger. With one final blow the victim was dead. I wiped my face with my bloodied
hand, smearing gore across my features. I turned to the next sufferer of humanity and prepared myself for the main act. This one would be disposed of quicker than the previous one. Without a single
sound the head was lopped clean off the body. The running blood mixed together and added to the flowing summer dresses that garnished the deceased. Now all I had to do was burry them.

Chapter 2

I have always repeated the cycle of visiting Peter as much as possible. Either to help him with tending to the garden or just to talk about life. Usually he just nodded his head or occasionally
muttered a few responses when we talked but something seemed off with him for the following days. I couldn’t put my finger on it. A few weeks later went to see Peter again, travelling down the same
path as I always did. Surprisingly I didn’t see the two women today, maybe they had gone on a holiday somewhere and wouldn’t be back for years. I smiled happily with that thought in mind. I saw
Peter sitting under the shade of an oak tree on a wooden bench. To my relief he was back to his normal self again, or so I thought. I sat down next to him and hummed a small tune, kicking my legs
back and forth. “The flowers look lovely today. Did you do something different to them?” I asked earnestly. Peter just looked at me and curled up the corners of his mouth. “Maybe.” Was the only
reply I received. We sat there in comfortable silence, listening to the birds in the trees singing like a choir. It was moments like these that I enjoyed. Eventually I decided that it was time for
me to go. I said goodbye and trotted off the way I had come. Though I didn’t plan to go home of course. Instead I played in the forest until the sun went down. I was curious, you see, as to why I
couldn’t stay longer than sunset. I don’t know why I chose this particular night to test my curiosity, it just seemed so right. As the sky grey darker and the air grew colder, I crept down the path
towards the house. It looked menacing in the dark, the twisted shadows creeping towards me as I walked. I thought I felt the presence of another being as I passed the garden. It felt like someone
was watching me but I shook off the feeling and passed it off as my imagination.

As I neared closer I spotted two red glows emitted from inside the house. I thought they were just lights, but as I closed in on it, it became clearer. My stomach twisted as I realised that they
were eyes, but not just any eyes. The familiarity made me shudder as I understood that these were the eyes of my friend. This person or thing in the house was Peter. I turned around and ran as fast
as I could, dashing through the gate into the garden. If I tried hiding behind one of the trees then I could escape without being noticed. I heard the footsteps become louder and louder behind me.
I was just about to turn the corner when my foot caught on something and I fell, crashing into the dirt and winding myself. I started to cry, the tears fell hot from my face. I was scared. I was so
scared that I couldn’t move. I watch Peter approach me, his eyes glowing. It is then I notice the white figures screaming at me, reaching for me. I picked myself up in one movement but Peter was
onto me. He jumped at me, twisted me around, dug his knees into my chest and curled his hands around my throat. I struggled and screamed, kicked and flailed for my life. I felt Peter’s grip loosen
and I shoved him off of me, kicking him in the face. I dashed forward again but Peter grabbed me by the ankle, pulling me towards him. His fists punched me in the face, giving me a black eye and a
bleeding lip, leaving hand prints around my throat. I laid there in pain, crying and pleading for him to stop, but he didn’t. I felt his hands grab the sides of my head and neck in a lock hold,
then hearing the sound of breaking bones before fading into nothing. Peter pulled hard, ripping the head upwards, separating it from my body. He breathed deeply, gasping at the air in exhaustion
but somehow managing to laugh manically. Then he burried me. The ghosts continued to scream and writhe, but circled around their master, their eyes glowing together with the stars above. He
collected his shovel and buried me in the garden so that I may be free. With the stars shining high in the moonless sky, no wonder he made this his design.